


Rainy Days Have Color Too

by iamavacado



Series: Some Sanders Sides Stories [16]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate Color AU, emotional distress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Roman knows there is a world out there filled with color. Virgil can see it, and so can Logan. But since Roman still remains disappointingly single, his world remains gray. Some days, it gets to him.





	Rainy Days Have Color Too

**Author's Note:**

> Behold! My first ever rewrite of an old fic!!! Yes, this is a rewrite of my second ever fic. That fic has since been orphaned because I hate it, but I left it on ao3, maybe u can find it if you want to do that to urself bc it was also for a different fandom. this one is way better. enjoy!

Roman was in his room, idly toying around with some sound bytes on his computer with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had his headphones in; the big black ones that Logan had bought for him one birthday, and he was using them to listen to some notes Roman had recorded from earlier in the day. He was trying to put the beginning of a song together, but was having a little trouble. Nothing seemed to fit lately, and he started to grow frustrated with it. They just didn’t seem to stick. But he wasn’t giving up. Roman had remained set in his ways, unwilling to leave the computer until he had at least the first 15 seconds set in stone. 

So that was why he couldn’t hear when Virgil called him from the other room. “Hey, Roman!” There was a pause while Virgil waited for Roman to show up, but when a few moments passed, and there were no audible footsteps, Virgil started to head down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Roman?” he called again. Once more, no answer. 

When Virgil went up to Roman’s door, he saw that it was cracked, so he eased it open. Upon seeing Roman completely oblivious to the outside world, he rolled his eyes. So often was he absorbed in his work, the world disappeared around him. There was a bit of art to it, but more often than not it left Virgil to call his name over and over, eventually having to just do the thing he was going to ask Roman to do in the first place. So he walked up and snatched the headphones off of Roman’s head, and Roman jumped at the sudden removal of them.

“Wha--!” he spun around in his chair to see Virgil dangling the headphones in the air. “I was in the middle of something,” Roman said indignantly, snatching them back. He handled them carefully, like he were cradling a child.

Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. “And I was calling your name. Come in the kitchen, I want you to see something.”

Roman looked back at his computer with longing, but reluctantly pressed pause on his audio. “This better be good,” he teased as he stood. “I was about to create the ballad of the century.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

Virgil led the both of them to the living room, and then into the kitchen. On the dining room table was a large-ish bouquet of flowers sitting on top. Next to it was a paper bag that was filled with some things Roman couldn’t see. Virgil went over to it and pulled some cans of soup out, along with what looked like a hot compress. “Logan’s been sick,” Virgil explained, “so I wanted to get some stuff to maybe make him feel better.” He held up a can of soup. “And maybe get him to stop working for about two seconds. What do you think?”

Roman didn’t look at Virgil, and didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the bouquet. It was full of carnations. Obviously they were for Logan, but he leaned down and smelled them anyway. Roman’s favorite flower was a carnation. To be honest, most thought it was roses he loved more than any other flower, but no. Roman loved the way carnations smelled, and he loved that they lasted forever after you picked them, and he loved the way they seemed to open up a room when you put them on a table. He loved everything about them.

If only he could see what color they were.

To Virgil and Logan, they were a clustering of gorgeous colors ranging from red all the way down to purple. To Roman, they were nothing more than a gradient of black to gray. A darker gray here. A whiter color there. A little shade of black over here. But that was it. He tried to imagine what they would look like. He tried to imagine them the way Virgil and Logan described them. In pinks and reds and blues. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. As vast as his imagination was, the one thing that always held him back were the colors.

“Roman?” Virgil probed.

“I think he’ll like it,” Roman replied dejectedly, looking forlornly down at the flowers. There was a stray petal that was about to fall off of one of the carnations, so Roman plucked it. He held it between his forefinger and his thumb, looking down at it like it was a piece of glass. Gently, he rubbed it in between his fingers, and felt how soft it was. Just like a flower should be. But even this did not make him feel better. All it did was remind him of how gray it looked. And how gray the rest of the house looked. How his life looked. The world looked. 

Even though Roman was the one being cheated, it really felt like Roman was the one cheating the world. It felt like there was someone who had crafted the world with a careful hand. Like someone had taken a fine tipped brush to put dents in all the mountains, and paint the colors onto grass blades. Like someone had had the time of their life using watercolor on the ocean tides and sand dunes. Like someone had put such careful thought into choosing all of the hues and all of the shades and the way they all fit together. Like the entire world was someone’s loving work of art, and Roman was turning a blind eye to it. 

It was like watching a movie without the picture on, was how Roman usually described it. He could hear that there was something going on, but he couldn’t see it, no matter how hard he tried to imagine it. He tried his best to go off of what other people were saying to try and follow the action from that alone, but he would never be able to get the full picture. He couldn’t see the world, so he just had to guess based off the sounds. There was missing information Roman knew was there, but he couldn’t reach it.

And usually, it didn’t really get to him. Because, all things considered, he was happy. Theater was something that took his mind off of it, for one. Making music was another. And some money ended up coming in from that too, so it wasn’t like he could complain about his job. Keeping himself busy was the main contributor to his distractions as well. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to worry about it. He also had good friends who he loved with all his heart, and seeing him live a good life made him happy too. They were in relationships. They were happy. They found their soulmates. Even Virgil: quiet, sarcastic little Virgil, had found his soulmate in Logan. And ever since, he'd stood a little straighter.

But every now and then, it was like there was this itching. This slight irritation from behind Roman's head that worked its way forward. It served as a reminder to Roman that he wasn’t living his best life possible. There was something _wrong_ with him. He wasn’t _complete._ Sure, it was just the one thing missing, but it was a pretty important thing. 

And sure, he’d dated. Who hadn’t? But they never seemed to work out, which always emphasized the whole ‘you’ll-never-find-true-love-until-you-find-your-soulmate’ thing. It wasn’t like he had anything against the guys he dated; they were all perfectly pleasant and lovely. But in the back of both of their heads, they knew it wouldn’t last forever. Why prolong what obviously wasn’t meant to be? If they both only saw gray, then they weren’t soulmates. And if they weren’t soulmates, then they couldn’t stay together. So boyfriends came and went. Sometimes mutually. Sometimes not. But no matter what happened, no matter who he dated, no matter who he'd spend the nights with, it never felt real. 

Because it was still black and white. 

When Roman had come out of his thoughts, he realized that the hand holding the petal was now clenched in a fist. Virgil’s hand was on his shoulder. 

“Roman,” Virgil said, “Talk to me.” 

Roman shook his head a little, as if easing himself from his thoughts back into the kitchen. He looked down at his closed hand and opened it, watching the little crushed petal dance its way down onto the kitchen tile. A little gray dot lying on top of a gray floor. 

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, even though that wasn't what he meant to say. If anything, Roman had every right to be bitter about his situation. But he never wanted to be bitter in front of Virgil, because it wasn't his fault that Roman was alone. It wasn't Virgil's fault that Roman hadn't found his mate. So he didn't deserve the guilt of seeing Roman’s jealousy showing. All Virgil ever did was find Logan, and all they ever did was be happy together. 

Virgil lowered his head a little bit. He understood. It had been years since he found Logan, but he still remembered how it felt to see nothing but black and white surrounding his world. “Roman, I---” 

Before Virgil could finish, Roman turned sharply and headed towards his bedrooms. He shut the door to his room before Virgil made it down the hallway. 

“Roman, will you let me in?” asked Virgil from the other side. A soft knock accompanied his question. “You don’t have to feel guilty for being upset.” 

“Just--” Roman was leaning with his shoulder pressed against the door-- “give me a few minutes, Virgil. Please?” 

There was a pause, and then the sound of footsteps hesitantly walking away. Roman breathed out, and turned to his bed. He went over to it and sat at the very edge, staring out at his many posters that lined the walls. Some were official posters he'd ordered online somewhere. Some were handmade. Some were just playbill covers he'd taped to the wall. There were some photos as well. One of his favorites hung above his desk: it was him, Logan, and Virgil, at the amusement park for Roman’s birthday one year. They had just gotten off the tower of terror, and that was why Virgil looked like he was ready to hurl up his lunch from earlier. Logan’s hair was a mess, and he was trying desperately to fix his tie. Roman took the picture as a candid, and no matter how much the others protested, he refused to delete the picture. Instead, he made prints. 

He loved that photo with all of his heart. He loved it because he knew there was a burst of color there, in his dull gray life that he _knew_ was there, even if he couldn’t see it. The roller coaster behind them was yellow, and Logan’s tie was blue, and Virgil’s hair had just been dyed a fresh purple, and Roman was wearing red. At least, that was what Logan had said when Roman had asked about it. 

Roman rolled his eyes at himself, and fell back on his bed with his legs still hanging off. _Why do I let myself wallow in this pool of self pity?_ He thought, letting his arms spread out like wings so his fingers were hanging off the side. Then he just stared up at his ceiling, forcing his mind to focus on _anything_ other than how gray it all looked. 

He tried to think of what he had for breakfast this morning. Eggs. maybe he should have eaten more--perhaps some bacon orange juice--goddamnit. Orange juice. Really Roman? You really just said orange juice? Try a little harder than that. Okay fine, how about blueberry pancakes? _BLUEberry!?!?!?_ Roman! You can’t get your mind off of colors by naming _more_ colors! Roman put his hands over his face and groaned into them. 

Why couldn’t he just accept that he was going to be single for the rest of his life? Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he was given? Why did he have to wallow in self pity every few days like his sadness was put on a schedule for when to sneak up on him? 

Obviously, getting lost in his own pity party, Roman had forgotten about how much time had passed. Because after what seemed like mere seconds (but was actually thirty minutes), he heard Virgil’s gentle knocking once again. This time, Roman didn’t say anything, but made a noise that served as enough permission for Virgil to open the door. He did, and walked in, shutting it softly behind him. There was no one else in the house, but shutting the door kept the sense of quiet intimacy in the air. Virgil didn’t want Roman thinking anyone else could hear or see him like this. “Roman?” 

Roman didn’t move. He was still staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

“Is…” Virgil neared the bed, and tested the waters by sitting on the edge of it near the headboard. When Roman didn’t protest, he sat farther back and layed down as well, with his legs also hanging off the side. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better, Roman?” 

It was several moments before Roman mustered up the courage to answer him truthfully. He opened and closed his mouth more than once, because it would have been so easy to say no. It would have been so much easier to say that he would just like to be left alone, but thank you for the offer. But the question he wanted to ask...the answer probably _would_ make him feel better. It had in the past. And he could hear it so clearly. He could see the way his mouth would move to form it. He could imagine how it would look suspended in the air as Virgil thought of how to answer it. 

So why was it so hard to ask it? 

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how, Roman,” said Virgil quietly. “But I do want to help.” 

Roman took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly. He took in another, and then forced the question out before he could change his mind. “Can you tell me about the colors again?” 

The question had taken Virgil aback for a moment. Roman hadn’t asked about that in a while. He had figured that Roman didn’t want to hear about the colors since it made him upset, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe hearing about the colors was the only thing that _could_ make him feel better. Who would have thought? 

“Uh, sure.” He sat up, and crossed his legs on the free space at the top of Roman’s bed. “Where...where do you want me to start?” 

“Start with your favorite,” said Roman. 

Virgil looked down at his jacket and its patches. He figured that would be his favorite. So he started there. “Uh, okay. So, purple.” He shifted his legs, making himself more comfortable. “Purple is like, kind of a soft color. If that makes any sense. It can be a dark, edgy color, but most of the time, you see it in sunsets and dresses and stuff. The patches on my jacket are purple. So’s my hair.” 

Roman tilted his head a bit and looked at his jacket. He could see one of the patches peeking out from under one of the sleeves. He also looked up at Virgil’s hair. _Purple,_ Roman labelled them. 

“Then there’s blue, which is Logan’s favorite,” continued Virgil. “Blue is pretty calm, and loose. Like water, or the sky. So...expansive and endless, like how Logan talks about knowledge. You know what I mean. But, yeah, blue is pretty cool. If the sun is out, and there are no clouds, and it’s like, around noon? The sky is this gorgeous blue. So pretty. Logan’s tie is blue.” 

Roman remembered about the tie from the photo at the amusement park. He still labelled it in his mind anyway. 

“Can you do red?” asked Roman. Despite not being able to see color, he had developed a favorite, and it happened to be red. Logan had explained red to him many times, mostly because Roman kept pretending to forget what he was told so he could be told again. It was nice to get a technical description, but he had never asked Virgil about it. He was curious how Virgil would describe it. 

“Red,” Virgil said slowly. “Is an action color. Like an explosion, or blood. It can mean anger too. You know, when people get really angry, their face goes red. When the burner on the stove gets really really hot, it gets red too.” 

Roman made a face. That wasn’t what he was expecting. His favorite color being the one that people think of when they’re angry didn’t really make him feel great. 

Virgil was looking at him, and realized how he came off. He tried to recover quickly by finishing. “But it can also mean love. And passion. And sunrises? Those can be red too. Red and orange and yellow, all mixed together. Red also means love. Like a heart beating inside your chest.” 

This eased Roman a little. He closed his eyes so he could listen to the rest. 

“You wear red a lot,” said Virgil. “It looks good on you. You’re actually wearing red right now.” 

Roman knew that. He had started labelling his clothes so he knew which color was which, ever since Logan had been teaching him about complementing colors. So he knew that his shirt was red, and his socks were green. Each piece of clothing in his closet was labelled with a little tag that said what color it was. This helped him better pick outfits in the morning. 

“Red is,” continued Virgil, “Red is...like you Roman. It’s fiery and passionate. Unrelenting, and...vivid. Never gives up. Always gonna be there. Red is you.” 

Roman sat in that silence for a moment after Virgil stopped talking. He let the words sink in, and he just breathed. He took in a deep, slow breath, and it now felt like his chest was a little lighter than it had been before. His heart was beating a little easier. His red, beating heart inside his chest. 

“Thank you Virgil,” Roman said in a whisper. 

Virgil nodded, and stood up from the bed. “Are you going to be okay while I take this stuff over to Logan’s?” 

“Yes, I feel better now. I appreciate it.” 

Roman felt Virgil pat his arm, and then heard him walk out, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

He sat for a few moments in the quiet after Virgil had gone. It was almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the peace that had been cultivated. But eventually, he opened his eyes and sat up, looking around his room at his posters and photos once again. He spotted the one taped above his desk, and he noticed that in that photo, he was wearing the same shirt he was wearing right now. _Red,_ Roman thought. 

“Red,” he said out loud. He enunciated the word as much as he could “Is an action color. Like blood or an explosion. But it can also mean love and passion. It can also mean me.” 

Roman looked down at himself. A gray shirt looked back. Gray pants. Gray socks. Gray floor. But he knew that his floor wasn’t gray, it was brown. And his socks were green. And his shirt was red. 

He wondered if red was the first color he would see when he found his mate. Did it go down the rainbow, starting at the beginning, or did it start with the person’s favorite color, or something else entirely? He wondered what the sky looked like on cloudy days. On rainy days. He wondered what color grass became when it died. He wondered what color his soulmate’s eyes were, and what they would look like staring into Roman’s eyes, which were brown. Part of him hoped his soulmate had green eyes. It was red’s complement. 

Roman looked at his computer, and walked over to it. He closed the files for the song he had been working on, and opened up his sketchbook. It had been months since he’d dared to take a brush to it. He didn’t feel like he’d be able to do the colors justice if he couldn’t see them. 

_But now? He was in the mood to paint with every color in his library._

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment!


End file.
